


Right Here

by parttimehuman



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Childhood Friends, Everyone is Queer, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Pride, Theo has a decent family, Thiam Pride 2020, artist!Liam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:15:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24931393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parttimehuman/pseuds/parttimehuman
Summary: Someone's been covering Beacon Hills in pride art for all of pride month. Theo is the son of the sheriff who's looking for the vandal, and he has a secret. He's the only person in Beacon Hills who knows the artist.
Relationships: Liam Dunbar/Theo Raeken
Comments: 44
Kudos: 96





	Right Here

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eneiryu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eneiryu/gifts).



> HAPPY PRIDE! ✨🌈

“You’re not serious!” 

It’s not the first time Theo comes home to the raised voice of his older sister arguing. He’s heard that voice many times in the eighteen years of his life, and he’s had the pleasure of being at the receiving end more often than he would have liked. He knows there doesn’t have to be anything gravely wrong for Tara to let her inner protestor out. She’s never been a silent bystander like him. 

Theo closes the door behind him, takes off his shoes and hangs up his jacket, briefly considering whether he really wants to enter the kitchen right now or not, but in the end, his hunger wins. That and a tiny little bit of curiosity about Tara’s chagrin of the day, but he wouldn’t admit to that one. Not out loud or in front of his sister anyway. 

“Of course I’m serious,” Theo’s and Tara’s dad replies, “what do you expect me to do? It’s damage to property. Are you suggesting that I, as the sheriff of this county, should care about how _prettily_ that property is being damaged?” 

“Theo, honey,” says his mom as he joins the rest of the family at the dinner table. Her smile says _please save me from this debate._ Her lips say, “How’s your day been?” But Theo doesn’t get the chance to answer. 

“Nothing even got damaged,” Tara huffs. “If anything, people should thank that person for making this town look a little less shitty and sad.” 

“That’s not how people typically feel about vandalism, Tara.” 

“It’s art!” She almost yells, then lowers her voice and adds, “People are stupid.” 

“Not that I disagree with you,” says Theo, “but what exactly is this about?” It’s not that he wants to be dragged into one of the heated discussions between Tara and their dad. He never does. But Theo has a feeling that he already knows what this current one is all about, and even if he doesn’t plan on saying anything, he happens to have a few thoughts about it. 

“Someone’s been covering Beacon Hills in graffiti and your sister doesn’t think the sheriff’s department should be looking for them.” 

Tara rolls her eyes. “Of course you would say it like that.”

“How would _you_ say it?” Theo asks her. 

“An _artist_ has been using this pride month for a _good cause_ and letting us all enjoy their work _for free_ while also spreading extremely _important political messages_.”

“Illegally,” their dad adds. Both Theo and Tara look at him until he says, “What? There are rules!” 

“And you think the rules should be followed blindly under all circumstances?” Tara argues. “You don’t believe that the breaking of certain rules can be a good thing?” 

“Not if it costs the town several thousands of dollars for graffiti removal, no.” 

“To be fair, you could just, you know, not remove them,” Tara points out. Between siblings, there’s an inherent refusal to agree on anything, but Theo doesn’t exactly disagree with his sister in this case. He’s seen a couple of the art pieces. He would love it if they could stay. 

“You know that that’s not an option.” 

Tara folds her arms in front of her chest. “Yeah, because god forbid the people of this town get to look at something that actually makes them think about serious social issues. God forbid things _change_ around here.” 

Their dad sighs. “Can we be done with this and eat dinner now, please?”

“Lost my appetite,” Tara murmurs, then pushes her chair back with a too loud noise and leaves it too far away from the table, walking away with large steps and stomping up the stairs as loudly as she possibly can. 

Mom and Dad both look sad, and Theo gets it. They thought Tara would grow out of it eventually, that the fights would stop once puberty was done with her. She’s nineteen now and only just getting really started. He understands her, too, knows that she’s no longer a troublemaker for the sake of trouble-making, but an activist, a young woman who has seen too much injustice over the length of her life to be okay with the world. Like the rest of their generation, their parents don’t understand Tara’s anger. Theo does. 

Unlike his sister, Theo does shy away from conflict. Dad isn’t going to not do his job, no matter how convincing Tara’s arguments can be. There’s no realistic resolution of their fight, no compromise to be made, so why bother? 

Instead of picking a side, Theo eats his dinner and tells his mom how good it tastes, helps clear the table after and pretends like none of what’s happening has to do with him. He’s great at it, nodding and smiling, staying in his line, never giving his parents a reason to worry, ever so polite and considerate. His parents’ golden boy. They’re so proud of him. 

“Good night Dad, good night Mom,” Theo says before he climbs the stairs to the second floor that belongs to Tara and him. He’s a wonderful son. 

He’s also a hypocrite. 

“You could have spoken up for a change,” Tara growls without looking at him as Theo steps through the glass door onto their shared balcony. The siblings have separate rooms, but both of them have access to the balcony. Ever since they were little, the balcony has been where they hang out. They never ask, they just go outside and wait for the other to join. Had Tara stayed inside her room, Theo would have known better than to try and talk to her, but she’s outside, legs folded and knees pulled against her chest, lips taking an aggressive drag from the cigarette in her hand. 

“Don’t blame him,” Theo says, “he doesn’t understand. And I’m not going to change that either.” 

“How do you know? You’ve never even tried.” 

Theo sighs. He wonders sometimes, how it’s possible for Tara to not be exhausted all the time. How do you find the energy to keep rebelling against anything and everything if nothing ever improves? Theo couldn’t. He’s tired just from watching his sister. 

“They’re probably not going to catch him anyway,” he points out. Not what Tara wanted to hear, but better than disagreeing with her. She rubs her forehead, letting go of just a tiny bit of the tension. 

“First of all, you don’t know that,” she points out, because she doesn’t know what Theo knows. “Second of all, that’s not really the point. They’re taking it all down.”

“I know,” Theo says softly. She has every right to be mad about it. They both have. Countless other kids in town do. Theo happens to have watched one of the bigger pieces being washed from the wall next to the main entrance to Beacon Hills High. Hot water and a terrible-reeking detergent against the colors of the rainbow. A little bit of identity, a little bit of pride, a little sign of victory - erased. “I know,” he whispers again. 

“I’m telling you, Theo,” Tara says, stubbing out her cigarette and getting up. “I’m not letting go of it this time. They need to get it. They need to _care.”_

“Do you really think they don’t?” 

She stands by the door to her bedroom and wipes a tear from her cheek with the back of a hand. Tara never cries, but she has her moments when silent tears can’t be stopped. “Did you hear him say _vandalism_? It’s just one of those minor crimes he deals with every day. If he cares, then tell me how he can think that. How can he order for it all to be taken away and go home like it’s nothing when he has two queer kids? How can he not know it’s not nothing to us?” 

And that, hell, what is Theo supposed to say to that? He doesn’t know. Some part of him is convinced that his dad is a good person, that he _has_ to be. That he’s just as proud of an asexual and aromantic daughter and a not-so-sure-but-definitely-not-straight son as he would be of any other two children. That he meant it when he promised to love them, to have their backs no matter what. 

_How can he not know it’s not nothing to us?_ Even after Tara has disappeared inside, pulling the glass door shut behind her, those words won’t leave Theo alone. For weeks, something has been going on inside him, something wild and confusing. What Tara said has something to do with it, for sure. But the main reason why the world is upside down is somebody else. 

Theo takes a seat in Tara’s abandoned chair and pulls out his phone. In his photo gallery, he has an entire folder dedicated to them - the art pieces that keep appearing and disappearing all over Beacon Hills. They’re special for three fundamentally different reasons. 

One, because the art is objectively amazing. Most of the graffiti Theo has seen in his life stems from a teenager’s boredom paired with a wish to test the limits of law enforcement. This is different. Every piece is unique, creative and beautiful. They usually consist of black lines, clean and precise. Black lines, and then a pride flag of some kind. 

The first one Theo took a picture of was an androgynous-looking superhero with the trans-flag for a cape. The second one was a magician in a black suit, top hat in hand, a dozen little bunnies in different color-combinations hopping out of it. Theo doesn’t even recognize all of the flags he sees there. He swipes over to the next photo, showing the backside of a black-and-white person, backpack hanging open, blue, pink and purple pouring out from it. The one at the school was a stack of books, the top one open, rainbow-colored letters coming out of it, forming a message across the wall: 

_We do not exist between the lines of your stories._

Theo has eight pictures so far, and he can’t decide which one’s his favorite. They all look stunning, they all look like they’ve been created with great care for the details and even greater passion for the message. 

The second reason why the art is special is because it’s controversial. It shouldn’t be. It shouldn’t have to be. But society has a long way to go and this, content that provokes a reaction from a large number of people, content that _touches_ people, this is maybe the closest thing to change in the right direction. Theo’s dad may say it’s nothing but a case of vandalism - god knows not the first one in Beacon Hills - but it’s more. They pretend like it’s not, those who are afraid of what else it might be, but it is. It matters. 

The third reason is just for Theo. He stares at the last picture until his eyes are burning, then looks up at the stars and presses his phone over his heart. The art is special, because it doesn’t come from nowhere. He assumes nobody else knows this. Knows who’s behind it, or why. Where they came from and what’s their business in Beacon Hills. 

But Theo does. 

Theo, as it so happens, recognized the art style the very first time he caught sight of one of the pieces. It’s why he snapped a photo of it. Originally, he was going to show it to Tara, maybe even their parents. _‘You’re not going to believe who’s back in town,’_ he would have said. But then it became a whole thing. A thing the sheriff’s department became interested in, so Theo has kept his secret. 

Once, many years ago, he was sitting at a table in one of the quieter corners in kindergarten, drawing the house he lived in, except with the tree in the yard that he secretly wanted, and a dog that would catch a tennis ball if he threw it. Most other kids were more interested in playing hide-and-seek or catch, or in building bricks, or the toy dinosaurs. Most kids found Theo weird because he rarely spoke, because he didn’t know about the things they thought were cool. But that day, he made a friend at the drawing table. They shared a box of crayons every day for the rest of kindergarten, but that wasn’t the end. 

Inseparable they became. All through school. Theo wasn’t good at making friends, and he never quite understood why this one stuck around, but it didn’t matter. They invited each other over for dinner and sleepovers, spent afternoons reading comic books and dressing up in Halloween costumes from the box in the Raeken’s attic. 

Theo hung the first drawings on the wall in his room. For his tenth birthday, he received a self-made comic book where Theo was the hero who saved a kitten from being run over in the street in front of his house. He still has a shoe carton under his bed, filled with more comics and drawings and paintings. Memories. Memories of days that went by in the blink of an eye and sparkling blue eyes, of the sound of laughter and the warmth of a hand pressed against Theo’s. Memories of _belonging_ to somebody, of a first kiss that was messy and awkward and wonderful. 

Memories of goodbye. 

Memories of _‘run away with me’._ Memories of staying behind, watching a packed-up car driving away from him, out of town, far, far away, never to return. Memories of tears warranted by loneliness, by loss, by the knowledge that _‘I’ll call you every night.’_ was a promise bound to be broken. 

It’s been almost four years. Or, all of high school, which is over now, but feels like it never properly started. Theo doesn’t know what to do. He only dares to get his box of memories out once he’s sure everyone else in the house is fast asleep. He’s never hidden them before, but if neither his dad nor Tara draw the connection to the vandal who’s currently wanted by the sheriff’s department, Theo isn’t going to be the one cluing them in. 

The question is, what else is he going to do? For literal years, Theo has been waiting. To be reunited. Call him naïve, but they used to dream about leaving _together_ , leaving Beacon Hills after school, buying an old van and turning the back into a bed, hitting the road, going where the wind would take them. Theo isn’t fourteen anymore, but that doesn’t mean he’s stopped dreaming. Just because life tried to drive a wedge between them, doesn’t mean the dream is lost, right? Maybe he’s stupid for it, but a part of Theo has always waited for high school to be over with said dream in mind, has always hoped that _somehow_ , they would cross paths again. 

In conclusion, walking around town looking for the newest art piece to snap a picture of isn’t good enough. Theo has been doing it that way for roughly three weeks now, secretly hoping they would somehow run into each other, maybe even thinking he’d discover some kind of clue, but nothing. All of June so far, they’ve been in the same town, Theo has followed the traces, and yet he hasn’t even gotten to see the face he’s been missing so much. How much longer is he supposed to be able to take it? 

With his treasure back under the bed, Theo lies down and pulls the blanket on top of himself, but sleep is hard to find that night. Something tells him that he hasn’t heard the last of the fight between Tara and their dad yet. Something tells him he might have to get involved eventually. He’s worried, a little, that his father’s deputies will find who they’re looking for. And he’s worried that he, Theo, will not. 

“Shit,” he whispers to himself and the night, because he can’t risk it. Whatever else is going on, he can’t risk not meeting, so Theo makes a plan. He thinks it all through like he has to if he wants to get rest at all during the night, making a list in his mind of everything he needs to consider. When the sun is close to rising again, Theo finally drifts off and slips into a soft dream that he can’t remember, but still has a taste of on his tongue as he wakes. 

Growing up as a younger brother to someone like Tara, who likes to take the lead, who doesn’t mind being loud, Theo has become very used to being in the background, watching and waiting as things play out, only reacting when it becomes necessary, which it hardly ever does. 

It’s different this time. It’s more important. It’s more important _to him._

And so for once, Theo acts. Although school is over and he momentarily has no responsibilities, he gets up, gets dressed and sits down for breakfast with his parents. He doesn’t have to do what he wants to do first thing in the morning, but he’s way too excited to wait any longer than he has to until the store opens and he walks in, heading straight for the stationary supplies. 

Five minutes and a few dollars later, Theo is on his way to the old playground in his neighborhood that’s been abandoned by Beacon Hills’ children because there’s a newer and way fancier one two streets over now. He’s so determined that he almost doesn’t see it, but the colors are so bright that they catch his attention even from the corner of his eye, so Theo stops in his tracks and turns to see another piece of art sprayed to a wooden shed in someone’s yard. 

Almost paranoid that someone could have already called the sheriff’s department, Theo pulls out his phone and takes a picture. Only after he’s made sure he’s preserved the image does he really take the time to admire it. This one is a garden gnome similar to the ones around the nearby flower bed. The little guy is painted all white, except for the sunglasses consisting of the lesbian and pan pride flags as well as a sun shade made of at least a dozen other flags patched together. Next to it, there once again is a message written on the wood: 

_We do not exist in the shadows of your world._

Theo shakes his head and grins. He can’t believe what he’s seeing. He can’t believe he’s lucky enough to know this person so well he can recognize them by the swing of their _W._ He can’t believe Beacon Hills is lucky enough to be this beautiful soul’s canvas. Without even appreciating it accordingly. 

Theo doesn’t want to leave, but he also doesn’t want any of the neighbors taking note of how long he stands there. He’s sad that the garden gnome and its message will probably be gone soon, but at least Theo has the picture on his phone. And after all, he’s on a mission, as he reminds himself, moving along and shortly after finally arriving at the playground. 

It looks tinier somehow, the little wooden house that really is just a triangular roof over a patch of grass. But that’s not all it used to be. It used to be a whole castle, because childish imagination was enough to make it one. It was a home to a made-up family, the residence of two self-declared kings, a shelter from rain, a place to trade gummy bears for chocolate bars, but most importantly, a young artist’s first studio. 

It was under the exact same planks of wood that they used to sit their butts sore in the dirt for hours and hours, going home with a backpack full of new creations, pages over pages worth of artistic experiments. They still came when they were both too tall to stand upright under the roof, but it was their spot. Theo listened to music or read, occasionally contributing ideas and watching as beautiful, miraculous things were being created. He always knew they would end up on something bigger than sheets of paper one day. 

Sitting in the same spot isn’t exactly comfortable for a fully grown Theo of eighteen years. But it’s not about that. He unzips his backpack, pulls out a stack of white paper and a box of crayons from the same brand as the kindergarten had all those years ago. He considers writing a message, but decides against it in the end. He doesn’t want anybody who it isn’t meant for to find his gift and draw any conclusions. Plus, if Theo isn’t the only one still holding on to memories, the gift itself will be enough. 

*

Waiting is harder than he thought it would be. Theo has been waiting for years, after all. But it’s different now that he knows what he’s waiting for exactly. Knows where to go to find out if it’s been worth it or not. He can’t expect anything right away, probably. The playground is a long shot, even if it’s the best one he has. 

“Theo, tell your sister to quit the childish act,” Theo’s Dad tells him at dinner. Tara is sitting in her chair, but she hasn’t said a word since she entered the room, and she’s refusing to even look in her father’s direction. Theo doesn’t say anything. 

“Theo,” Tara replies, “tell your father that I’ll talk to him again when he’s ready to talk about serious issues.” 

Again, Theo says nothing. 

“Can we stop this at least for dinner?” Mom asks, ever the peace-maker. 

“You’re just as bad,” Tara says to her. Theo knows she’s about to get up and leave the dinner table for the second time in a row. “This is exactly what’s wrong with the world. That you tell us to stop and be quiet because it’s not polite, because it’s not comfortable for you when we express our opinion. Do you know that Dad put even more deputies on the case today?” 

Dad rolls his eyes. “How on earth would you even know that?” 

“Because I _care,”_ she hisses, and then disappears. 

“Theo, honey, do you understand what’s going on with your sister at the moment?” 

Theo looks from his mother to his father and back to his mother. He knows that Tara is right about them. Their parents don’t get it. Theo’s go-to response used to be telling himself how it’s not their fault. How they _can’t_ understand. How it’s not worth arguing with them. 

He shakes his head. “You know that that’s not what it is, right? It’s not Tara. It’s not that she’s mad for no reason, or that she’s going through something. Do you want her to be quiet? Or do you want her to live in a world that she doesn’t feel like complaining about every day?” 

“Theo,” says his mother, clearly surprised, “where is this coming from?” 

_We do not exist in the shadows of your world,_ he wants to say. _We do not exist between the lines of your stories._ But they wouldn’t get that either. 

“She’s right,” Theo says simply. “Maybe you’re too used to her arguing to consider taking her seriously.”

“Of course we are!” 

Theo doesn’t raise his voice, and he doesn’t flip tables. He doesn’t stomp, doesn’t kick things or smash the glass over family photos or slam doors. But he lowers his fork slowly, standing up from the table. “You didn’t even listen to her. You literally told her to shut up. How much do you guys actually care? Is it just, _‘we’re your parents, of course we care’,_ or is it real?” 

Theo hates himself. He hates that he had to stand up to his parents for once, and how weak his voice got because he truly sucks at fighting. He hates that a part of him wants his mom to pull him into her arms and hold him even when she’s part of what he’s running from. He hates the burn of tears in his eyes and he hates the world for being a shitty place to grow up in. 

For a second, as Theo stands in the hallway, he thinks about going upstairs, but he doesn’t know what to do with his anger, and he doesn’t want Tara to see it, because she’ll think it’s hers when it’s not, this time it’s Theo’s, just Theo’s, so instead of upstairs, he goes outside. Just for fresh air, he thinks at first but then Theo finds himself walking, walking until he’s standing at the broken gate to the old playground, staring at the little cabin. 

He doesn’t want to be disappointed, but Theo can’t turn away and leave again. He can’t. He checks his watch, it’s been thirteen and a half hours. Not a lot of time for someone the cops are after to play games. And yet, Theo can tell with one look inside that something is different than when he left in the morning. 

The stack of papers is still there, but the box of crayons is positioned differently. And the top page has a message written on it. It’s the address of Theo’s elementary school. Followed by the words: _For you._

It’s dark, so Theo won’t get a very good picture, probably, but what is he supposed to do? Go back home and not run to the elementary school like a lunatic? Not very likely. He takes the sheet of paper with him, folding it and putting it in his pocket, and then he takes off, arriving at the school yard panting and with the muscles in his legs on fire. 

The painting covers the entire damn ground in front of the building. It’s huge. Theo isn’t going to take a photo of it, because he would have to be able to fly to pull that off. He can’t believe it. How on earth? 

This time, the figures aren’t black or white. They’re children, five of them in total, drawn in white lines but filled with color, their skin turned into more flags. Above their heads, of course, it can’t be missing this time, is a giant speech bubble, and inside it: 

_We do not exist where you can keep us small._

Theo laughs out loud. He can’t stop himself. The madness of it all. Right there at the elementary school, not during the night but some time during the day the absolute piece of art must have been created. Not small, not rushed, not in fear. It’s right there, drawing Theo’s gaze back to the combinations of colors that he’s looked at so many times, wondering if they are who he is, if he is what they mean. 

_For you._

For him. Maybe gay, maybe bi, maybe pan, he isn’t quite sure how anybody is supposed to know these things, but definitely not made to fit in. Theo feels victorious. Who he is lies there on the ground at his feet, and it’s also on a shed in a stranger’s yard, and it’s also on the wall of Beacon Hills High, and countless other places, and it will always be, because even when the colors are gone, he will remember. 

Still grinning - he can’t make the corners of his mouth go back down - Theo runs back to the playground, back to the paper, back to the crayons. He sits down, and with his heart beating in his throat, he begins to write. 

_Run away with me._

*

Theo doesn’t receive an answer. He tries his best to sleep but it’s hard. He tries to eat, to read a book, to keep up a conversation, but his mind is occupied by _what if_ s. _What if they actually have a chance? What if they were always meant to be? What if something new is waiting for Theo at the playground?_

He waits twenty-four full hours, but then he can’t stand it anymore. His message is gone, but there is no reply, so he can’t be sure that it was found by the right person. That it wasn’t simply picked up by a stranger. Or taken by the wind. 

Theo doesn’t understand. What does it mean? He keeps racking his brain, keeps walking over to look at a pile of blank paper, picking up a crayon, putting it down again. Maybe he just needs to wait a while longer, he tells himself, leaving again. Maybe he’s being stupid and nothing is going to happen no matter how long he waits, he thinks, still coming back to make sure. Before dinner, around midnight, first thing in the morning, after lunch. Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing. 

After the fifth or sixth attempt, Theo lies down and pulls his phone out, going through his gallery again, wondering where to find the next piece. Wondering why he hasn’t already. Wondering whether there will be a next piece at all. After two minutes of just staring, his phone changes to the screen saver and Theo’s gaze lands on the date. June 28th. 

For the first time, it occurs to him that all of it might be over with the end of pride month. 

*

June 29th, between hope and anxiety and excitement and tension and a thousand, a million other feelings, Theo doesn’t know what to do anymore, so he ends up searching the attic for the old bike he hasn’t used since middle school. He makes sure there’s enough air in the tires and ends up sweaty and exhausted before he’s even left home, but it’s a welcome distraction. 

On the bike, Theo can cover more ground. It’s kind of important that he finds the next art piece before anybody else can. At this point, he isn’t even sure if he still believes in it, but regardless, he can’t stop looking. He just can’t - it’s not an option. 

It would be logical to make use of Beacon Hills’ bigger buildings and more public places. After all, people are supposed to see. Theo follows that logic, riding his bike from school to school, from the hospital to the bank to all the supermarkets and convenience stores. From the town hall to the public swimming pool to the gym and back, street up, street down, going in circles, cursing the Californian summer sun, thinking about giving up, thinking that he’s been a fool all along, thinking- 

Having an idea, suddenly. 

Laughing at himself for not thinking about it sooner. Turning left, willing his tired legs to go faster until arrives in the street that he’s avoided ever since the day he stood on the sidewalk during the summer before high school, waving his _everything_ goodbye. 

Panting, Theo comes to a halt right there on the sidewalk where his heart was broken, but he doesn't have time to dwell on it. He drops his bike and walks up to the house that he’s spent so many days of his childhood in. Someone else must live in it now, but Theo doesn’t care, and he isn’t the only one. 

Right across the front of the light-yellow façade it is. What he’s been looking for. 

It’s the world between them. A globe, with the American continents at the front. Two human figures left and right of it. On the one side, a figure with a big smile and a t-shirt consisting of the classic rainbow-colored pride flag, a flower tucked behind its ear. On the other side, one in a long dress, the top of which is made of the colors that Theo is pretty sure stand for demisexuality. The skirt, he genuinely doesn’t know. It’s pink, white, purple, black, blue. Theo makes a mental note to google it later. 

He reads the letters underneath the image: 

_We exist. The world can’t come between us._

Now, if that isn’t a real answer. _The world can’t come between us._ Theo takes the obligatory photo, but it turns out a little blurred because someone opens the front door just as he hits the button. Immediately, they start demanding an explanation, so Theo runs, picking up his bike and yelling “Sorry, I don’t know who it was.” as he takes off. He’s sure his dad has either already been there or is currently on his way, and Theo really doesn’t want to have that conversation. 

It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that the painting will be gone. It doesn’t matter that the photo he got isn’t perfect. He will never, _ever_ forget what it looked like. Theo believes in a happy ending now, or not an ending, a happy story. They’re going to meet. Soon. He knows it. The world can’t come between them. Nothing can. 

During a relatively cold shower to wash off the sweat, Theo imagines it. He dreams it up, everything he knows will still be the same. The blue of the eyes, the smile on the lips. He comes up with good things to say, makes his heart beat fast by letting his imagination run wild. When he gets out of the shower, he throws on a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, rubs his hair half dry with the towel and falls down on top of his bed, grinning like a goddamn idiot, not giving the slightest shit about it.

Suddenly, there’s a knock on Theo’s door. It’s not something that usually happens in the Raeken household. When Tara wants to hang out, she waits on the balcony and Theo’s parents haven’t come up to the second floor in years, but now his mother is standing at Theo’s door, waiting for him to wave her in, carefully, silently sitting down at the edge of his bed while Theo sits up at the other end.

“Can you explain it to me?” She asks, her voice too quiet for his liking. 

“Explain what?” 

“Why you’re angry.” 

“Mom,” Theo sighs, “I didn’t mean to start a fight, okay?” 

“No,” she says, “I mean it. Explain it to me. You have things to say. And I, we, have things to learn from you.” 

Theo exhales deeply. He didn’t expect this. They get along, generally. He and his parents. Their family is not a catastrophe like some others he knows, but they’ve never talked about serious things much. Which is maybe exactly why the catastrophe never happened. 

“I’ll show you something,” he says, selecting one of the pictures on his phone. Not the most recent one, he’s not ready to share that. He goes for one of the early ones. 

“Looks really good,” his Mom says as he looks at it. 

“Yeah,” Theo nods, “but it’s not about that.”

“It’s about the flags.” 

“They’re us, you know,” he says, “and we need to see them. Because we don’t get to see ourselves in the world as much. Because we’re not the heroes in the stories we’re told as kids. We’re not the couples that get elected prom royalty. We’re not parents and families and main characters and leaders and winners and pop stars and whatnot. Not because we don’t exist. Because of choices to erase us.”

“Honey,” she says, looking sad, reaching out for him, but Theo shakes his head. He isn’t done, no matter how hard it is. 

“Someone came here, and _showed_ us. And look what happened. Erased again, literally.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“That’s why Tara’s mad, Mom. Because she’s been told that she doesn’t exist. Because she wants someone to tell her that she _does._ Because she _needs_ someone to _care.”_

Theo is mad too. He’s really, really angry. But the tears of his mother hurt too. 

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes again. “For never asking.”

“Asking us why we’re angry?”

“And so many other things. I passed one of those paintings today on my way back from the grocery store. It had a flag that was yellow and white and purple and black, I think, and I realized that I don’t even know what that means.” 

“Non-binary, Mom,” Theo replies, “that’s for people who don’t identify with either of the binary gender categories.” 

“You could have told me that, Theo. I’m sure Tara could have told me that. Like so many other things we don’t know. That we never asked because we were too afraid to make you kids uncomfortable. We thought we just had to love you. And of course we do. But it’s not enough. I don’t want you to feel erased.”

“I know that,” Theo says. He can barely look at her, afraid that he’ll start bawling. 

“That is good, but I’ll remind you of it more often, okay? Of those things that don’t actually go without saying. We’re going to do better.” 

Theo nods. “Thanks, Mom.” His words are drowned out by the slam of Tara’s door. 

“Are you okay, honey?” 

“Yeah,” he promises. 

“Do you think I should dare go into the lion’s den next door? Or is that not safe right now?” 

Theo shrugs and smiles a little. “It might not be. But it’s probably still important that you try.” 

She gets up and strokes a hand through his hair. “I’m proud of you, Theo,” she says, “really proud.” 

Theo doesn’t want to stay around and listen to any potential shouting from his sister’s room. Mom is probably going to start cooking dinner as soon as Tara’s through with her, but he doesn’t feel hungry. After the day he’s had, Theo’s mind doesn’t have any capacities left for anything unrelated to that big, beautiful thing that he hopes is about to happen, so he puts on shoes, grabs his phone and headphones as well as a hoodie for later and leaves. 

_‘Don’t wait for me,’_ he scribbles on a sticky note for his mother to find in the kitchen. 

Ten minutes later, he’s sitting cross-legged in the former center of his world, putting some music on. There’s only one day left, so he’s come prepared to wait. It’s a chance to remember, to close his eyes and think back to the shenanigans of two carefree children, to broken skateboards and bloody knees and tooth gaps. He remembers the two-minutes-long handshake they once came up with and the first time they slept huddled up to one another. 

The same spot that Theo is sitting in now was the place where his heart beat in his throat as he drew a heart on the dirty tip of a converse shoe, secretly waiting to be told to stop, but it never happened. It’s the same place where they were kneeling in front of each other, pressing their palms together to see who had the bigger hands, except the next thing Theo knew, their fingers were entwined. It’s the same place where he was staring into an ocean of blue as said ocean became bigger, came closer, threatened to drown him until he looked away, afraid that the waves wouldn’t take him. 

The same place where the odds were defeated, where Theo was liked back even when he didn’t think it possible, where a finger touched his chin and forced him to look back up, where lips were pressed softly against his own and the whole world changed with one kiss. Where Theo had been learning for years what love was, but never realized it until then. 

During the past four years, Theo didn’t ever feel _happy_ remembering, but now he does. So happy that his brain goes mad for a second when one of his headphones is tugged at and falls from his ear. 

In four years or a million, Theo could have never prepared for it. All the imaginary first meetings in his shower in the world wouldn’t have prepared him. He wasn’t ready. He isn’t ready. 

But the ocean is right there again. 

Blue eyes that smile along with pink lips in a face that’s clearly not that of a fourteen-year-old anymore. Longer hair than he remembers, light-brown curls framing said face. Broader shoulders than he would have expected, maybe broader than Theo’s. A dress, long and light-blue and making waves around a pair of legs that come out of a pair of combat boots. 

“Hi.” 

A voice deeper than the one Theo used to know. Low and a little rough and beautiful, so beautiful. 

“Liam,” Theo whispers, and Liam’s smile widens. 

“You didn’t think I’d forget about our plans for after graduation, did you?” 

Theo shakes his head, and then he laughs. “I didn’t, but I can’t say that this is how I imagined the two of us meeting again.” 

“Are you complaining?” Liam asks, grinning as he joins Theo inside the little cabin that instantly becomes smaller, sitting down opposite of him, legs crossing to mirror Theo’s position, their knees touching in the middle. 

“Not at all,” Theo says. 

“Great,” Liam smiles. “How are you, Theo? How’s your family doing?” 

Theo looks at Liam’s face, at the smudges of paint on Liam’s hands and again, begins to laugh. “I’m sorry,” he wheezes, “but that’s honestly the funniest question you could have asked me.” 

“How your family’s doing? I’ve missed your mom.” 

“Yeah. The Raekens are at war, currently.” 

Liam nods, seemingly amused. “What did Tara do this time?” 

“So, funny story,” Theo says. “You probably don’t know this, but Dad finally got promoted. That was two years ago, I think. So he’s the sheriff now. And as the sheriff, he’s been dealing with a case of vandalism.” 

Liam’s eyes light up and he grins a dirty, excited grin. “Oh, _no.”_

Theo smiles back. He has to, it’s contagious. But it’s not purely a fun little anecdote that he’s telling. It’s also serious. “Tara doesn’t believe they should be looking for you.” 

“Well,” Liam says, “they shouldn’t. There are actual bad people out there.” 

“She doesn’t know, Liam. At least I don’t think so. She doesn’t know it’s you. But she loves what you do. She believes in what you do. And she’s been making Dad’s life hell for trying to ruin it. It’s not like old times, you know. It’s not a stench bomb dropped in the car of a teacher who’s dared to give her a bad grade.”

“I always liked your sister.” 

“I know,” Theo sighs, “it was the one thing I couldn’t stand about you.” 

Liam leans forward and touches Theo’s knee. “I always liked you better.” Theo blushes immediately, hard. He does not have any more game at eighteen than he did four years earlier. 

“What about you?” He wants to know. “Did you get into some fancy art school?” 

“I did. But I’m not going. Not this year, anyway.” 

“Why not?” Theo asks, but he knows why not. Because Liam doesn’t _need_ a fancy art school. Because one single place isn’t big enough for Liam. Because teachers and experts and instructors aren’t who or what Liam wants to learn from. 

“Too many blank spaces in the world.” 

“Speaking of blank spaces, what’s the plan for tomorrow?” 

Clearly, Liam is extremely excited about Theo’s question, immediately sitting up straighter. “Tomorrow. My final piece. The grand finale. I kind of have a plan. I mean, a little bit. I try not to limit myself. But how about, instead of me telling you about it, you come with me?”

“To watch you do your magic?” Theo tries a joke to make it sound like he isn’t already _dying_ to get to see it. 

“To be my partner in crime,” Liam says. 

“Deal,” says Theo, offering his hand. 

“Deal,” Liam echoes, taking it. 

They stay where they are until the sun starts setting and their legs and backs hurt from being cramped inside the tiny cabin. Theo doesn’t have anything to hide from Liam, but he answers every question briefly so he can ask Liam one in return, never tiring of listening to Liam talking, telling stories and mimicking strangers’ voices and sharing memories that make Theo sad and happy at the same time. 

He tries to imagine. Liam’s stepdad and his car and nerve-wracking driving lessons. Liam joining the lacrosse team at his high school to make friends and becoming one of the top strikers, having incredible talent but zero ambition at anything that isn’t art. Liam’s room in the house Theo has never visited, the ceiling covered in song lyrics and poetry, the walls in color. Liam’s friends, people smiling next to Liam in photos, because how could they not? After all, they got insanely lucky meeting Theo’s favorite person in the whole world. Theo tries not to be jealous, tries to be only happy for Liam, which, looking at Liam’s face, isn’t all that hard. 

“Ready to get going?” Liam asks when it’s gotten dim and cool around them. 

“Be gay, do crimes - isn’t that what they say?” 

“You’ve become a wise man, Theo,” Liam says, bumping their shoulders together as they leave the playground behind. 

“Hey, um, by the way,” Theo says shyly, “not to be awkward or anything, but I should probably ask you what your preferred pronouns are, right?” 

There’s a moment there that Theo doesn’t quite know what to do with. Liam stops, just for a second, looks at him, looks _at_ him. “Thank you,” Liam says softly. “I don’t mind being referred to as _he_.”

“But?” Theo asks. He senses a _but_ of some sort. 

Liam shrugs. “I don’t know. It seems fitting most of the time. Sometimes not, but I’m still figuring that out.”

Theo gives Liam a moment, just in case there’s more there. And there is. 

“I’m not a boy _every_ day of the week, you know? It changes. I thought I was just confused, at first. That I just had to figure myself out. But I don’t think I want to keep trying to figure something out that might never become clearer.”

Theo nods. “It took me ages to come out to my parents,” he says. “Tara respected it, but she didn’t understand. I wasn’t scared. Not really. I didn’t think I had a reason to be scared. But I didn’t have a word for who I was. I still don’t, and that makes it harder. I ended up telling them I’m not straight. That’s what I know. Anything beyond that is a mystery to me, because it feels one way in one moment, and a different way in the next.”

“What’s your favorite color?” 

“Hm?” 

“Come on, Theo, what’s your favorite color?” 

Theo shrugs. “Depends on what we’re talking about. For clothes I wear, black. Aesthetically speaking, maybe yellow or green? Although my favorite flowers are orange. Oh, and I love blue.” 

“Can you pick one?” 

“Not really.” 

Liam turns his head and grins until Theo looks up and _gets it_ and grins back. “Shit,” he says, “you’re totally right. Fuck picking one.” 

Liam throws his head back and laughs. “Fuck picking one.” 

*

Watching Liam is like magic, Theo’s joke from earlier is entirely on him. He’s drunk on a fuzzy feeling already, high on his and Liam’s togetherness as they arrive at the bleachers of Theo’s high school. 

“There’s a game here tomorrow,” Liam informs him, “your school has a decent team, actually, they’re drawing quite the attention. Plus, it’s the final game of the season. All of Beacon Hills will be here in the evening.” 

Theo can only stand there and stare, following Liam with his bag and handing over spray cans. It’s like it used to be, a peace that doesn’t exist when Liam isn’t _creating_ , or when Theo isn’t there to be part of it. They don’t talk. Spoken words aren’t big enough for the moment. 

Where the audience is supposed to sit and look down onto the playing field, Liam lets countless creatures come to life. Humans, animals, anything in between. Every single one of them waving a flag. In every seat. Hours pass, the darkness turns into blackness, Theo has to illuminate Liam’s working space with a giant flashlight. Black becomes dark blue becomes purple becomes pink, spray cans are emptied, hand cramps are fought through. 

The world stands still. At least it would, if Theo had the power to stop it for even just a moment. Just to stay a while longer, to keep the sun from rising, the town from waking, the day from coming, the month from ending. 

“We have to hurry,” Liam says at six in the morning, cheeks pink, forehead sweaty, eyes wide and glassy and tired and glowing. His last victim is the score board. Theo helps cover it in white so Liam can write on it, using every color he hasn’t run out of yet. 

_WE EXIST,_ he writes. _RIGHT HERE._

*

On the way back, Liam is quiet. Theo feels victorious. Proud. Theo could run the entire way home at full speed. He could climb on top of the roof and scream into the world how happy he is to be alive. How happy he is to be alive in the same world as Liam. 

But Theo isn’t the one who’s exhausted himself over the past hours. The past month, really. 

“Come spend the night at mine, Liam.” 

Liam’s soft smile lacks conviction. “The night is over, Theo.” 

“Come sleep at mine, then. You look like you could use it.” 

Liam is either too tired to fight it, or he doesn't want to. Either way, they walk to Theo’s place, accompanied by the strange thought of how long it has been that they last did this. And how in spite of it all, nothing about bringing Liam home and holding the door open for him feels strange at all. 

“Good morning,” comes the voice of Theo’s mother from the kitchen as Liam and Theo are about to climb the stairs up to the second floor. They both look at each other. _Shit,_ Theo thinks. He didn’t waste one thought on the possibility of his parents being awake and downstairs, didn’t make any effort whatsoever to close the door silently. 

“Um, morning,” he replies, quickly throwing Liam’s bag into a corner and his own hoodie on top of it, kind of hiding it just in time before his mom sticks her head through the kitchen door and gets really, really big eyes. 

The rest of her body appears, and a hand covers her mouth. Theo thinks she might actually cry. 

Liam clears his throat. “Hi, Mrs. Raeken,” he says. “It’s really great to see you again.” 

Clearly, she finds it really great to see Liam again too, judging by the way she grabs him and clutches him to her chest, not that she’s getting any words out to confirm it. Liam hugs her back but otherwise tries his best to hide his hands from her sight. There’s a lot of incriminating evidence all over his fingers. 

“Hey, Mom? Liam’s kind of super tired, so we’re going to head to bed. I’m sure he’ll be happy to stay for dinner tonight.” 

“More than happy,” Liam nods. 

“Oh, you sweetheart,” she says. She’s always loved Liam. “Are you still a fan of lasagna? I’m going to make you some. It’s going to be great catching up.” She turns to Theo and, with a slightly lower voice, adds, “Dad and Tara might even behave. They had a long talk last night.” 

“Really?” Theo asks. Genuinely, he wants to know, but it will have to wait until after he and Liam have slept. 

She nods enthusiastically. “Do you need another pillow and blanket? I can get you some from the guest room.” 

Theo shakes his head and pulls Liam to the stairway. “No thanks. We’re all good.” 

They are. 

Theo can see the interest in Liam’s eyes as they enter his bedroom and Liam sits in Theo’s desk chair while Theo gets the bed ready and hands Liam a t-shirt to sleep in. But he can also see the tiredness, so Theo closes the blinds to provide the darkness that they battled hours earlier. He turns around respectfully as Liam slips out of the light-blue, but now sprinkled with other colors dress. They smile lazy smiles at each other as they get into bed. 

From then on, an old power takes over, one that came into being fifteen years ago at the drawing table in kindergarten and has grown ever since, even during the time apart. It pulls them close, Liam’s head to Theo’s heart, Theo’s arms around Liam’s back, their legs around each other. 

Like this, they have always been able to sleep best, despite the warmth under the roof during a Californian summer, despite the questions they still have to ask another, despite the new parts of each other they have yet to get to know. It can matter later, tomorrow, another day. 

*

Ironically, they sleep through it all. Liam’s masterpiece is discovered without either of them being present. By the people in authority over the high school, by the sheriff and his deputies, by some reporters working for the local newspaper, by the students of Beacon Hills High, and then, by anyone wanting to attend the game. Photos are being taken and spread on the internet like wildfire. 

From the looks of the online posts and reaction videos and comments, people are celebrating. _#weexistrighthere_ goes through the roof within hours. Queer kids that Theo never knew share pictures of them showing their flags - showing _their colors_. Queer kids that Theo never knew or would have guessed were queer do it. Kids that aren’t queer do it. 

Beacon Hills’ last game of the season has to be cancelled because too many people are trying to storm the playing field. Because it’s not a day for business as usual. It’s a day to celebrate. A day for pride. 

Theo and Liam lounge on the couch in the Raeken’s living room, reading reactions and comments out loud to each other until Tara wedges herself between them to steal Liam from Theo and never stop talking again. Mom makes lasagna and everything seems amazing, but everything isn’t. 

Tara goes stiff the second their dad comes through the door. 

“Finally,” he says, greeting Liam and making some small-talk, but everyone is waiting, the tension thick in the room, Tara’s eyes glued to the carpet. 

Thankfully, Dad seems to get it. “They’re not going to do anything,” he says, loud enough for everyone to hear. “The school. Us. It stays where it is. Right there.” 

Tara releases her breath. She nods, and she doesn’t say thank you, because it’s too small a victory, and it comes too late. She doesn’t offer peace either, but she relaxes a little, as much it’s possible for Tara to relax. She’s an intense person, always has been. But no chairs make screeching noises over the floor that evening in the Raeken household, and no plates are broken with intent. No doors are slammed, no voices raised. 

Tara doesn’t trust that the world is a better place now, and Theo can’t blame her. But good things have happened, and they can’t be erased. Not even by the cleaning company that’s having a great June in Beacon Hills on the town’s costs. 

“Your mom is the best,” Liam says when they’re on their own again after Theo’s family has finally let go of Liam. Theo doesn’t want to talk about his mom. Mixed in with the general happiness of the day, there’s a little bit of sadness in him. 

“So this is it, huh?” He closes the door to his bedroom behind him and stands across from Liam, who’s sitting on Theo’s bed. 

“What?” 

“Your final piece is done,” Theo explains. “That’s how you said it. You’re not sticking around.” 

Liam shakes his head, looking down at his hands. “No, I’m not.”

As easy as that, Theo is fourteen again, and his bedroom carpet turns into the sidewalk in front of Liam’s old house, and although the space between them remains the same physically, he can feel them drifting apart, can feel his heart shattering. 

“I can’t stick around,” Liam continues. Theo wishes he wouldn’t, but he doesn’t ask Liam to stop. Because once Liam stops talking, what is left? Only goodbye. “I didn’t come here for Beacon Hills, Theo. I came for you. Because four years are not enough to destroy us, are they? Because the world can’t come between us, can it?”

_Can it?_

“Theo.” And then, Liam is up from the bed and right in front of Theo, fingertips softly touching his hands. “I can’t stick around, because someone told me to run away with them. And I’ve been waiting for years to do it.” 

Theo stares at their hands, watches as Liam’s fingers turn his palm up, as they slide together, fitting perfectly. 

“Art school can wait,” Liam whispers. “Being a rebel with a cause can wait too. Everything can wait. Because we, _you and I,_ we’ve done enough waiting. It’s everyone else’s turn now.” 

“You suck so much,” Theo sobs. If only there was a way not to have a face like a tomato right now, and not to be on the verge of tears. “You totally had me thinking you were going to say goodbye again.” 

Liam takes Theo’s face in both hands and smiles, also looking a bit teary-eyed. “Run away with me, Theo. I don’t care where we go. We can take a bus, or a train, or get on the next flight. We can buy that van we used to dream about. We can go north or south or east or west. It doesn’t matter. We exist everywhere.” 

“Yes,” Theo nods, and he might be crying and smiling at the same time, and he might look entirely stupid because of it, but Liam pulls him down nonetheless, and Liam presses their lips together, kissing Theo without any of the insecurity from four years ago, without any of the awkwardness. And Theo kisses back without the fear of having to say goodbye again, without any intention to ever let go again. 

And they exist. 

Right here. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Thank you for existing! I'm proud of you! I love you! You matter! Happy pride! ✨🌈


End file.
